"It means that something has happened," said Aunt Clarissa, at first, sententiously. Then, after a pause: "Come, come, now; it may only be a dream, after all. Go to sleep. I must go back to your brother George."
Aunt Clarissa was worried, nevertheless; and when she reached the bedroom where George lay she once more sank down upon her knees. Oh, Inconsistency! Aunt Clarissa was praying for the confusion of the forces of the King!
The figure on the bed moaned uneasily.
"What is it, dear?" said Aunt Clarissa, lifting her head from the counterpane.
If George could have heard this term of endearment, it would have almost convinced him that he must have lost his wits; but Aunt Clarissa had undergone a great reconstruction.
"Oh, it is you, Cloud, is it?" exclaimed George, distinctly. "You black-hearted villain, you dare not harm me." Again he sank back and mumbled incoherently.
Aunt Clarissa had listened. "Cloud—Cloud—why, that's the name of our old overseer! What could he have been doing around here?" she whispered.
At this minute there was a clatter at the front door; the doctor had arrived.
"Where under the sun has this young man been?" he asked, as he stood at the bedside.
"In a few words I will tell you," said Aunt Clarissa, who never wasted her breath at the best. "He has escaped from an English prison in New York, where they treat men so horribly that it is enough to turn one's hair to listen to it, let alone one's heart. He arrived yesterday afternoon on horseback, looking tired and worn. He fainted, and I put him to bed. I left that worthless colored wench Polly to keep her eye on him, and she fell asleep. He got out somehow, and the Lord only knows where he has been, for his clothes were torn and smothered in mud and ooze when they found him up the road. He probably had been gone two hours."